Get a Job

I spent most of the day today hauling fallen trees out of the woods (my father lives on four-and-a-half partially wooded acres) so I'll be able to saw them up for firewood. The day was cool, and the work was hard, and it felt great. Great to use the muscles in my back and shoulders and arms for actual work, as opposed to lifting plates of steel at the gym. Great, too, to give myself some time to think. Manual labor is good for that.

I realized that I need a job. I'm getting nothing done. The simplest things, like returning phone calls, take days for me to do. Each day is a blank screen in my Palm Pilot. Except for mondays and wednesdays when I have welding school. In other words, I have too much time. If I don't get to it today, I'll be able to do it tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next day.

And that's why I need a job. On good days, when I accomplish One Thing early on, then I get a bunch of things done. Accomplishment is great inspiration to do more. So I need a job.

I perused the want ads in the local paper and came up with three possibilities that appealed to me. The local SPCA is looking for help in the kennel; a Master stone mason is looking for an apprentice; and a sheet metal shop is looking for a general helper. I called the sheet metal shop, and they were only looking for someone with experience. ("Experience as a general helper in a sheet metal shop," was the qualifyer when I responded, "I have a lot of experience with a ten year work history...") I went down to the SPCA and filled out an application. The place seems to be run by alarmingly overweight passive-aggressive women who litter their desks with dream catchers and mugs proclaiming their belief in unicorns and angels. But still, it's the dogs I'd be working with, not the passive aggressive women. I left a message with the Master stone mason. ("I'm something of a Master myself, but in another context.") (No, I didn't really say that.) My romantacized notion sees him as looking like Burgess Merideth or Wilfred Brimley, a taciturn craftsman, seeking some young pup to whom he can pass on his craft as his own children are investment bankers or real estate developers or whatever. The voice that left the incoming call greeting when I left the message did nothing to contradict these fantasies.

It ain't welding, but at least it's working with my hands. And I like that it passes the Non-Traditional Homosexual Male Job Test. And, the house that I want to end up living with is built of concrete, so stone and concrete isn't so far off. So it would still fit with the Five Year Plan.

A job, a job, I want a job.

And now, I've gotta get dinner on the table for my father.

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